


morning, mourning

by sunsongs



Category: Food Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Chinese New Year, Gen, Grief/Mourning, POV Second Person, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 06:16:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21049682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsongs/pseuds/sunsongs
Summary: “I’m tired,” you whisper, afraid to shatter the silence daybreak brings. Sunlight splitting across the dim. You walk on eggshells as it spills, a deep gold like yolk across the kitchen. There are so many things you want to say. So many words that will forever be unspoken, to Ma. To Ba.“Says the one who stayed up ‘til two last night,” your brother huffs, amusement light as he rolls his eyes. The proverbial eggshells crunch underneath your feet.  You laugh; the spell is broken.A tale of two brothers.





	morning, mourning

You light the incense sticks in the early hours of the morning, their smoke chasing away the remnants of nightmares that roused you from restless slumber. By now, you know the motions by heart; your movements are half from memory.

Your younger brother does the same, the harsh lines of his typical scowl softening into something calmer, quieter. Bathed in morning’s gentle light, a smile threatens to break across his face. The gravity of the ceremony dawns upon him, then, so he looks towards you. Waits for you to take the lead, as the eldest.

And so you bow. 

Once.

Twice. 

Thrice. 

You kneel before the portraits of your parents, drinking in the sight of the people who had given you so much.  _ Thank you, _ you offer in hopes that they would hear, _ thank you.  _ Again and again, lifting your voice to where you hope their souls would rest.

When you were younger, your brother had always fidgeted in place. The incense had brought a dizziness upon you, a dreamlike state brought on by its heady scent as you watched the sticks burn. But those days, you think, are long gone.

Now your brother stands still. Rigid and statuesque, his eyes are distant as if in reminiscence. He sets the incense sticks in their rightful place. If you had not lived by his side for so many years, you would not have noticed the slightest tremor in his hands. 

You rest a hand on his shoulder, once the ceremony is complete, then, your head. He smells of smoke.

“I’m tired,” you whisper, afraid to shatter the silence daybreak brings. Sunlight splitting across the dim. You walk on eggshells as it spills, a deep gold like yolk across the kitchen. There are so many things you want to say. So many words that will forever be unspoken, to Ma. To Ba. 

“Says the one who stayed up ‘til two last night,” your brother huffs, amusement light as he rolls his eyes. The proverbial eggshells crunch underneath your feet. You laugh; the spell is broken.

-

The sound of sizzling from the stove fills the air. It crackles like static, a radio out of tune. Turn the dial, and you can hear the music: bright laughter and beating hearts. 

Your brother snatches a slice of  _ nian gao, _ glutinous rice cake, from your plate. You scowl from where you stand at the stove.

“You'd better leave some for me,  _ dìdi _ ,” you threaten, waving the wooden spatula like a weapon. It brought to mind the games of pretend the two of you played back then. Sometimes you were the king. Sometimes he was yours, while you played your part as his right-hand man. Even in another lifetime, the two of you were inseparable. 

“Or what,  _ gē _ ?” Brother dearest asks, and you don’t need to look to see that he’s smirking. And savoring your  _ nian gao, _ while he’s at it. That little..

“I’ll kick your butt in training today.” It’s a promise you’ll have to keep in your next spar.

“Is that a challenge? Looking forward to seeing you lose.”

By the time you’re seated at the table, savoring the nian gao  _ you _ had cooked (although not made, having brought it from a market stall) with relish. Its soft and slightly chewy texture was all the more delicious, fresh from the stove. Bits of fried egg complement its flavor of slight sweetness, making the treat all the more enjoyable. 

“A symbol of prosperity never tasted so good.”

“Aren’t there a lot of those?”

“My, my, this racket all about?” Chasiu Bao asks, voice languid but not lethargic. His high ponytail trails in his wake, a ribbon of red stark against the white of his coat. 

“Happy New Year, you two.” he adds after a moment, settling in a seat next to your younger brother. He ruffles your brother’s hair with his typical smile, ignoring his protests. It’s just another reason why you’re friends with Chasiu Bao.

The other food souls make their way into the kitchen. Chrysanthemum Tea appears serene, unhurried in her elegance. Sesame Ball bounces his way in, beaming as always. 

Uncle will be coming over soon, and so will Auntie. You set the table, and with the help of your brother, assign parts of the restaurant to be cleaned.

Midnight has yet to strike, after all, and you want the place to be spotless for their visit. You wouldn’t want them to worry, either, for your living conditions and whether the two of you could take care of yourselves. 

You take another sip of tea, delighting in its warmth and refreshing heat. When you were younger, you could hardly stand its bitter flavor; now, it is a comfort. 

The hour is early, but there is much to do before your relatives arrive. As you begin to sweep the floors, you realize it’s a way to work off this restless energy, this impatience.

You can’t wait to hear more about stories of your parents - your easygoing, quiet father with his patience unparalleled and your stern yet kind mother, fiercely protective and unafraid of speaking her mind. 

Watching your brother scrub his part of the kitchen with a vengeance you thought reserved for slaying Fallen, you realize he must feel the same. 

-

-

They tell you he’s your uncle’s child, and he has the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen.

Ma tells you speak slower, not as loud. Filial daughter, be dainty. Be gentle, be quiet. All round edges and warmth. 

You acquiesce, as always. 

No boy will like you, with these clothes. Ma tsks, and you dare not laugh. Just as you like it.


End file.
